The Lovely Assistant
by Hallucifer
Summary: "My lovely assistant, Caroline. She's the backbone of this place." Implied Cave/Caroline. One-shot.


**The Lovely Assistant**

She had exactly eleven minutes to do it.

Despite never being on time for anything else- leaving her to make flustered and pleading excuses to rooms full of businessmen at every meeting, often involving elaborate tales of broken down cars and 'family emergencies'- Mr Johnson was as accurate as a clock for going out for his morning cigarette. He would linger out by the fire exit, snapping at any other employees that happened to be out there to get back to work (ignoring the complete hypocrisy of doing so), and fully taking advantage of his status as 'the boss', reminding anyone who dared speak up that he "owned the damn place".

She would watch all this from the office window, pushing aside the overgrowing indoor plant as she peered out. She was about the only person he wouldn't have begrudged taking such breaks, the advantages of being the 'lovely assistant', loyal and obedient, and very much in favour with the boss while both in the office and in bed.

"She's the backbone of this place!" Mr Johnson would insist, one arm around her shoulders as she blushed, while he introduced her to the same businessmen she had been making excuses to for the past twenty minutes.

Speaking of minutes... She glanced at the clock. Seven minutes until he'd be back. She began searching frantically through the papers on his desk, shoving aside a couple of forms that should have been signed at least two days ago, until she found what she was looking for.

Hand-written in a scrawl that was barely readable, she glanced through what was bound to be the final and only copy of Mr Johnson's speech for their next big presentation. It was awful. Full of offensive jokes and poorly explained information, half of it appeared to be mere rambling about his own personal achievements and what idiots he believed all their rival companies to be. If this speech every made it to the public, or more importantly to a certain audience of corporate sponsons, they would be shamed and rejected in no time.

Folding the already crumpled sheet of paper twice over, she shoved it into the side pocket of her dress, though not before taking out a much neater page and smoothing it out onto the desktop to get rid of the fold creases. Once satisfied, she shoved it roughly where she had found the other paper, though leaving it poking out slightly, obvious enough for Mr Johnson to actually find and remember to bring to the meeting.

Then turning on her heel, she left the office at a light run, dodging quietly back through the corridors and ducking her head for the curious gazes of fellow staff members. None of them questioned her. She was often called to the boss' office for 'private meetings'. The only worry she had was that someone would notice said boss wasn't in his office right now and would question what she was doing in there alone.

She didn't feel safe until back in the dingy staff room, sitting stiffly on the corner of the worn sofa beside the coffee machine. She had her own office, of course, right next door to Mr Johnson's, but it wasn't exactly a safe haven when he was calling for her from the next room every two minutes.

She preferred to be out of the office, much more involved in her duties of supervising other staff members and overseeing current project development. Despite obvious certain issues, she did love this job. She loved this place. Hell, she'd even once loved that man and his fantastic vision to conquer the scientific world.

That was why she did it. That was why she made sure to use those eleven minutes to keep this company alive. That was why she spent her lunch breaks mimicking Mr Johnson's handwriting as she wrote out speeches of an acceptable standard. Speeches that the sponsors, and businessmen, and whoever else would actually be impressed to hear. The speeches that Mr Johnson said were "so brilliant, I amaze myself with my writing prowess".

"You know, Caroline," he had said to her once. "A lot of running a successful business is instinctive. You just _know_ what you have to do. Now, it's not an instinct many men have. It takes a strong character like me at the wheel! But that's what keeps us at the top! I'm known for my brilliant presentations, and half the time I don't even remembered writing them! I could do it in my sleep, though. Hey, maybe I do!"

She watched his silhouette pass by the translucent window in the staff room door. The eleven minutes had passed. He would be back in his office right about now, sitting back in the high-backed leather chair (far more luxurious than any of the other staff's simple plastic models), and barking orders over the intercom while drinking coffee.

Meanwhile, she would slip back into her office at some point, sending important e-mails and working out finances as she kept his company afloat.


End file.
